


Xenografts

by dawnstruck



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Roy POV, artsy and pretentious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-17 01:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10583193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstruck/pseuds/dawnstruck
Summary: Def.: transplantation across speciesOr, what if Mustang had arrived in Riesembol just a few days earlier?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old thing that I had lying around in my files for about a year, even though there was only one scene missing, but I finally got around to finishing it.  
> This is kind of a mashup of manga, Brotherhood and '03, but it doesn't make much sense in the overall development of the events, so please ignore how illogical all of this is. I just want to indulge and play around with the premise of what had happened if the Elrics had never gone through with the transmutation.
> 
> Also, this is stupidly artsy, but I hope it's still enjoyable. :)

 

The horse-drawn cart ambles along the unpaved path.

 

“Boys?” Roy sits up straighter, eyebrows rising in disbelief.

“Aye,” the old man says, “Orphans, too. Live up in the house on the hill, all by themselves.” He vaguely points the way. “Their mother was a nice girl. Saw her grow up meself,” he shrugs, sighs, “They were looked after by our Pinako. The Rockbells. You might have heard of them.”

Roy doesn't clench his fists, aware of Riza's eyes on him.

“But really, everyone pitched in so the boys wouldn't starve,” the man continues in blithe ignorance, “Until they left that is.”

“Left?” Roy echoes, “Where did they go?”

“Went with some lady to study alchemy under her.” Another shrug, the intricacies of the science clearly lost on him, “Were gone for a year but came back just a few weeks ago. So you're in luck, Mister Soldier.”

 

A grassy hill, a little house, somewhat unkempt, somewhat abandoned, but still with history lingering there in the heartseases and forget-me-nots that have grown past their flowerbeds, surrounding the white-washed walls like a fairy circle, like an array, like something faintly magical.

The curtains are drawn, the door must be bolted.

“Maybe they are not home,” Riza ventures.

Roy raps his knuckles against the wood and specks of green paint rub off on

_his skin._

“We could go ask their neighbors.” She has her face turned towards the house a little way off, “If they just returned after a long absence, they might not have settled back in yet.”

Roy just keeps overturning doormats and broken flowerpots in search for

_a hidden key._

 

He's got a fist-sized stone in his hand, ready to throw in a window, when the door finally opens.

A small blonde boy peeks through the crack. His gaze lands on Riza first, and Roy subtly drops the rock in the grass.

“Yes?” the boy asks, looking cautiously friendly. Strangers in this sleepy village, and military ones to boot. Kid's got a good head on his shoulders.

“Lieutenant Colonel Mustang and Second Lieutenant Hawkeye,” Roy introduces himself as he steps forward, gesturing to himself and then towards Riza.

The words 'Are your parents home?' are almost on his tongue, but he catches himself.

“One of the Elric brothers, I presume?” he asks instead.

The boy gives a hesitant nod, “Can I help you somehow?”

 

“Al, what's the matter, who's there, tell them to go away,” a busy and self-important voice bustles over the boy's shoulder, and then another one is there, ducking out underneath his brother's arm.

If the first one was called Al then this one would be Edward, the older of the two and yet the shorter one. Roy finds himself vaguely amused by that.

Edward spots the military blue and his hackles rise like that of an angry cat.

“What do you people want?” he hisses in accordance, “You got no business here, so leave!”

Big reaction for someone so tiny.

Eleven years, Roy thinks.

_Heavens, have I ever been so young?_

“We were looking for two famous alchemists,” he gives a winning smile, “Might you give us the pleasure of a small chat?”

 

“Winry and Granny Pinako made some welcome home pie for us,” Alphonse Elric says and sets two plates in front of them, the good china and the matte silver. He has to climb on a chair to reach the upper shelf but he pours them tea and folds serviettes.

Edward leans against the kitchen counter and crosses his arms in front of his chest. He's not happy that they are here but he also does not know how to make them leave without making them suspicious. That in itself makes Roy even more suspicious.

Those two boys have something to hide and he will find out what it is.

“May I use your restroom?” he asks Alphonse and stands from his chair.

 

Skeleton in the closet, he muses as he quietly explores the rest of the ground level. Dead body in the basement.

He hums and reaches out a hand.

The door is not locked. Either there is really nothing there or Edward hadn't expected the strangers to actually come in.

Roy doesn't turn on the light, just snaps his fingers once. The momentary flame illuminates the path for just long enough to burn the memory into his retinas, for him to pick his way down the stairs more easily.

Once down there, he does it again. A work table, various jars and instruments on top of it. A candle, too. Another snap and he has light to inspect the room.

There's the usual stuff you find in a basement, cardboard boxes and broken brooms. Some unusual things, too, like a giant suit of armor up against the wall. A chalk-white array drawn onto the damp floor.

Genius brothers, indeed. Roy crouches down to inspect the circle up close, inspects its details and its demands. No easy thing to pick apart. Alchemy is as much an art as it is a science. One cannot simply read it, it has to be interpreted.

His eyes slave their way through the intricate maze, growing wider and wider still. The particular form of the array is not familiar, but the purpose is.

He stands up too quickly, twirls around, his head spinning.

Jars and bottles on the table, neatly labeled. Water, carbon, ammonia- It's all there, all the ingredients, and he doesn't understand, doesn't comprehend, because why would two little-

 

“ _Boys?” he asks._

“ _Aye,” the old man says, “Orphans, too.”_

 

A noise behind him, like mice in the corners. He turns, takes the candle with him. Feral eyes gleam gold in the scattering dark.

“You bastard,” the boy snarls and flies at him in a flurry of angry fists, “What are you doing here, you have no right-”

“I could say the same to you,” Roy points out more calmly than he feels. He leans out of Edward's reach and then snaps forward, catches narrow wrists in one hand. Edward squirms and twists in his grip, much stronger than he looks. Roy just holds on tighter.

“Screw you, we're just practicing,” Edward claims and kicks at him.

“For human transmutation, as it seems,” Roy points out and there is just a hint of hesitation before Edward renews his struggles.

“Screw you,” he repeats, “What would you know, you-”

“I'm an alchemist, too,” Roy tells him and then, carefully weighing his options, he adds, “And I tried it before.”

Edward stills, his breath low and quick. He stares up at Roy from between the messy strands of hair that have fallen into his face.

“What?” he rasps, and there is something akin to hope in his voice.

 

_A little house, with history lingering there in the heartseases and forget-me-nots that have grown past their flowerbeds._

 

“Human transmutation,” Roy reiterates.

Slowly, he lets go of Edward but doesn't turn his back on him. Edward's arms sink down and there must be bruises forming on his skin, but he does not seem to notice.

“That's a good array you got there,” Roy nods appraisingly, “Definitely better than the one I was working on.”

“Why-” Edward starts, stops, shakes his head, “What-”

“I tried to right a terrible wrong,” Roy explains, looking the boy in the eye though it costs him much, “Nearly went crazy with it.”

 

“ _The Rockbells. You might have heard of them.”_

 

“You tried, though,” Edward says, “You said you tried.”

“A good friend intervened and stopped me in time,” Roy says and watches Edward flinch.

“So what?” Edward bares his teeth, “You gonna stop us, too?”

“Well, I could take you to court for attempting a criminal offense,” Roy points out off-handedly, “Or I could give you a slap on the wrist and hope that you won't try again once I leave. Or I could talk facts with you, from alchemist to alchemist.”

 

_He gives a winning smile, “Might you give us the pleasure of a small chat?”_

 

“Consider the practicalities,” he says and skims his fingertips over the jar labeled sulfur. He can almost taste the pungent smell on his tongue.

“You're working with the average here, correct? The approximate amount of how much water is found within a human being, how much phosphorous.” He pushes the jar away, makes it skid across the tabletop before it chinks against the bottle of ammonia, “But you do not know how much there was in that specific body you are trying to recreate.”

Edward thinks, swallows.

“It's okay if there is a little extra,” he insists, “It should still work.”

“Say it does,” Roy carries on, “Say you have a body with blood in it and all the parts where they were meant to go. What is the soul made of?”

“Blood,” Edward looks down at his hands, “We were thinking one drop of our blood.”

“In exchange for a soul?” Roy cocks an eyebrow, “I've lost more simply shaving in the morning.”

Ed glares, “Well, how would you know? You didn't actually try, did you?”

“No,” Roy concedes, inclining his head, “But I've looked into it some more since then. All evidence points to the fact that human transmutation has never actually succeeded in bringing someone back from the dead. All you end up with is-”

_A dead body in the basement._

“Shut up!” Ed growls, incensed once more, “You have no idea, no idea what it's like-”

“To grow up without parents?” Roy asks, “To lose someone dear? To fear the future?”

He turns back to the boy, spreads his arms.

_Look at me, Edward._

“I am an orphan and a soldier. I understand better than most.”

Edward's shoulders are quivering, “But our mom-”

“Ah,” Roy nods, “Would she like to see you go to prison or even executed? Would she like to know you risked your life for something as capricious and unfathomable as this? That you went against nature to force an unexplored kind of existence upon her?”

His gaze is drawn towards the hollow armor, covered in dust and cobwebs.

“Sometimes I think the thing that makes us human is accepting the ways of life,” he muses quietly, “I live, I thrive. Don't you and your brother have other people to endure for?”

 

“ _Winry and Granny Pinako made some welcome home pie for us.”_

 

“But,” Edward says helplessly, “I promised Al.”

Roy knows the weight of promises all too well.

“You can't bring back your mother any more than you could shoot the stars out of the sky,” he reasons nevertheless, “And even if you tried, the risk would be too great. Is this really worth your life? Or your brother's?”

He can see the anger surge in Edward's eyes, ire in lieu of tears. And Roy has an inkling of what it feels like, to think you are so close and then to have your heart's desire snatched away mere moments before could it was within reach.

Roy has drowned his worries in alcohol. Edward give his air to breathe.

He kicks against one of the buckets which tumbles over, spilling its contents over the floor. One branch of water reaches out and touches the outline of the array, eating its symbols, destroying its perfection. It's not something that can't easily be remedied, but somehow it seems to break something fundamental within Ed, his reason, his resolve.

With an outraged cry he swipes an arm over the tabletop, bringing down the glass jars with loud crashes, before upsetting the entire table and kicking against that, too.

_Big reaction for someone so tiny._

Within a scarce few minutes, the carefully arranged lab has turned into a chaos zone. Roy neatly steps aside to keep his boots dry, but Edward's cheeks are wet with tears. He furiously wipes them away, but more and more keep coming, heavy breaths heaving through his body, while he still keeps kicking and shoving and pushing at everything within reach.

The ruckus must be loud enough that it can be heard upstairs and, soon enough, Alphonse comes tumbling down the stairs. His gaze lands on Roy, a threat of danger in his eyes that seems wholly at odds with the polite little boy from before, but then he sees what Edward is doing.

“Brother!” Alphonse cries out in alarm, rushing up to stop the older boy, just as Ed is toppling over the antique armor.

The metal comes crushing down, the noise painfully echoing off the low walls, and Alphonse just barely manages to jump aside, narrowly evading the hollow armor.

“Brother, what are you doing!” he demands, panic creeping into his voice, and Edward turns around, shoulders quivering.

“It's over,” he says, clenching his fists by his side, “It's over.”

Hawkeye is there, too, now, her handgun cocked as she inches toward Roy's side, but she lowers it when she realizes that this is just about a boy throwing a tantrum. She sends Roy a questioning look, but he keeps his eyes on the boys.

“What?” Alphonse asks, helpless, “What do you mean, over?”

“We're not doing it, Al,” Edward says. He has to stop himself, his voice breaking off, and he sniffs loudly before he can continue. “It's too dangerous.”

“But, but-”, Alphonse stammers, “You said- I though- We've been training for this for a _year_!”

“And teacher told us that human transmutation is dangerous,” Ed says, “So we're not doing it.”

Hawkeye jerks slightly. She doesn't know much about alchemy, but she can probably connect the dots. And so can Al.

He turns from his brother to the mess on the floor and then toward Roy. His lower lip trembles. “What did you tell him?”

“The truth,” Roy says calmly, “And sometimes the truth hurts.”

In the face of two armed and uniformed adults as well as his aggressively stubborn brother, Al loses all his breath.

“But,” he says, the air hitching out of him, “What about mom-?”

“Death doesn't play favorites,” Roys knows, “I'm sorry.”

Al's legs give out from under him then, his knees buckling as he collapses onto what little is left of his dreams, smudged chalk and fluids soaking the fabric of his shorts.

Ed stands next to him, unmoved. Then he reaches out his right hand and gently touches his little brother's soft hair.

“I'm sorry, Al,” he whispers and that's that.

 

“I know anything I say now will seem like condescension,” Roy says, “But I'd like you to listen anyway.”

Ed stares up at him. His tears have dried, but the have left tracks in the dust on his face. He almost looks like any other boy his age, crying over a scraped knee. Edward's legs are untouched, but his heart is in shambles.

In the West, the horizon is scarlet with the impending dusk. Roy tilts his head toward it.

“That's the sun setting,” he tells Ed, “Tomorrow it will rise again. And the day after as well. What about you. Where will you be?”

Edward blinks slowly, seeming to wake from a deep sleep.

“Here,” he says, “Where else would I go?”  
Perhaps the true meaning of the question has escaped him. Perhaps his answer still mattered.

Roy gives a subtle shrug.

“The brass could use someone like you,” he muses, “State alchemists are in high demand.”

That, at least, makes Ed give a disbelieving snort.

“ _Me in the military?” he shakes his head, “Not a chance in hell.”_

Roy allows himself a small smile.

“Just as well,” he says, “Being a soldier requires discipline and obedience after all.”

“Bastard,” Ed turns his nose up at him, “That just means you're a lapdog.”

Roy inclines his head, doesn't bother to disagree on the matter.

“Then there is something else I would like you to do,” Roy tells him and Ed narrows his eyes at him.

“Yeah? And that would be?”

“Prove to me that you have not given up,” Roy says, “Prove to me that you are still alive.”

“What,” Ed scoffs, “You want me to write you love letters?”

“The occasional postcard will do.”

“And why the hell would I bother with that?”

“Because sometimes it's good to have a reminder.”

Roy had Maes by his side and scars from the war. Edward needed something equally tangible.

“Whatever,” Edward kicks at the dirt, “You gonna leave now or what? Granny Pinako is making stew for dinner and I don't wanna be late.”  
“Of course,” Roy nods, already taking a respectful step back, before pausing again.

“Don't forget,” he adds meaningfully and Ed makes a rude gesture.

_I wouldn't dream of it._

“Lieutenant,” Roy calls out to Hakweye and she walks over from where she had quietly been comforting Alphonse. The younger Elric also looks a little worse for wear but he, too, seems to have accepted the matter. The two brothers were not exactly more mature than other children, but they were scientists in heart and in mind, and did reconsider their views when presented with hard fact.

They say their goodbye, unsentimental with their short acquaintance, and the soldiers make their climb back down the hill.

They are not at the foot yet when, on a whim, Roy halts and glances back over his shoulder, seeing Edward with square shoulders and his face turned to the sky, with blue flowers and his childhood home at his back. Roy allows himself a smile and closes his eyes.

_Just long enough to burn the memory into his retinas._

“Sir?” Hawkeye asks and he turns away again.

“Let's home there is another train running tonight,” he says and together they leave.

 

Shortly after, he is promoted to Colonel. The civil war in Ishval has ended and there is something like routine returning into the ranks and the newspaper headlines. News other than bloodshed, that is.

Roy acquires a loyal team of confidantes who swear to help him

_along the unpaved path_

to the top. He'll see peace governing this nation. He has promises to keep.

And he gets postcards, sometimes.

The stamps are from all over the place, Riesembol, Dublith, Rush Valley, Central, the capital of Xing, the front images showing picturesque landscapes or impressive architecture.

Years pass and he never answers any of them, but he never throws them away either. Instead he keeps them in a locked drawer of his desk and not even Riza knows that he has a hidden key.

He has contacts, makes a few phone calls, pulls a few strings.

“It would be a good investment,” he promises the dean who sounds doubtful but curious.

“You know them, then?” she asks and Roy smirks into his phone.

“I do,” he claims, “Just don't mention my name when you contact them.”

 

“Cat caught the canary,” Maes says and Roy glances up from his lunch.

“Pardon?”

“Lately you've been looking like the cat that caught the canary,” his friend clarifies, “I've been trying to figure out the reason.”

“Can't a man simply be content with how his life is going?” Roy deflects, “Consider your own at the moment-”

“Yes!” Maes agrees at once and, just as predicted, pulls out a stack of Polaroids, “Gracia already started showing. And Elysia is so excited to be a big sister.”

Roy shakes his head in fond exasperation.

 

Every year he renews his subscription to the science journal that nowadays features lengthy articles on transmutation theory that mostly go over his head. But they are signed with A.E. & E.E., so he reads them and re-reads them until he feels he got the gist of it.

There is one article that reads like code within a code. It speaks of equivalent exchange as a theorem instead of an unshakable axiom, and Roy already knows that the next issue will feature incensed responses from antiquated alchemists who are loath to see the pillars of their world torn away by a flood wave.

That article is signed with a lone E.E., and Roy runs a thoughtful finger over the dark ink, over the last few lines that echo a long-past conversation in a candle-dark basement.

_What is the soul made of?_

 

“There's a letter for you, sir,” Riza says and it is an odd choice of words considering she has just placed an entire stack of mail in front of him.

He looks up to her and then down onto the desk where she had fanned out the envelopes like a handful of playing cards, a single joker mixed in between or maybe an ace.

Tiny letters scratched into the stationery stare back at him.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Roy tells her, carefully selecting the letter that is tantalizingly absent of the national emblem. He waits for her to leave his office before the blade of his silver letter opener slices through the paper.

The envelope feels curiously light and when he spreads it open between thumb and finger he finds neither neatly folded sheets of paper nor messily cramped handwriting. Instead there is a single ticket, an invitation card to an upcoming guest lecture at East City University. It specifies time and place and subject and some of the more reputable speakers, all of whom Roy recognizes but not the one he wants to see.

He weighs the ticket in his hand for a moment. Then he unlocks the private drawer and places the invitation inside, together with the other

_love letters?_

 

He considers taking along a friend as a sort of alibi, but the only alchemist he can think of is Alex and that will just result in people staring.

So he forgoes his uniform, puts on one of his better suits and calls for a cab. It's a nice night and the auditorium is filled to the brim with people. Students shuffle around in the back, unable to find any seats, and Roy wonders at the risks in case a fire breaks out.

He hands his invitation to one of the ushers and is directed towards the rows up front. Before he can make it there, however, his path is cut short.

Edward stares up at him, fully grown but still noticeably shorter. His hair is much longer, his shoulders broader, yet his eyes are just as fierce.

Roy's breath catches. He wants to say, I've spent the past eight years thinking of you.

“ _One of the Elric brothers, I presume?” he asks instead._

Edward bristles.

“You little shit,” he hisses and slaps him on the arm, “You know exactly who I am.”

Roy smiles.

“I've read your articles,” he reveals, “So I'm curious for your presentation.”

“Most of the people here won't even get it,” Edward makes a flippant gesture, “But I'll be quizzing you after, so don't you dare fall asleep.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Roy claims and smiles again.

 

When Edward and Alphonse take the stage together, it is less of a lecture and more of a performance, juggling with numbers and throwing out theories like gunfire.

Whenever there is an uproar from the audience, Edward starts yelling at people, throwing pieces of chalk, before he yells at them to throw it back so he can demonstrate by drawing on the blackboard while Alphonse hides his laughter in his palm.

Alphonse is calm and reasonable, listens to people's questions and actually tries to help them understand. Edward just expects everyone to keep up with what he is saying and his outrageous phrasing has even Roy on the edge of his seat, biting his tongue in an effort to not loudly object.

Edward's ponytail swishes as he turns from the podium with a huff, his waistcoat cinched around the narrowest part of his back.

Nineteen years old, Roy thinks, closing his eyes. Heavens, have I ever been that young?

 

“You got a scholarship, I gather?”

Some other speaker is up on the stage now, someone with a bigger name and an even bigger ego, and Edward has stolen out of the auditorium, waving his brother off when he made to follow. Roy finds him outside, ascending the stairs one step at a time.

“Funny thing, that,” Ed muses, running his hand over the banister, “One day we get an invitation from the dean of South City University, offering us a full ride.”

Roy hums, beginning his own uphill climb to join him, “How fortunate.”

“Yeah,” Ed says slowly, “But she never even mentioned how she found out about us in the first place.”

“You enjoy your studies, then?” Roy asks, “You seem to have been abroad, too.”

“We got the chance to travel around a bit,” Edward explains, “Talk to people and stuff. Alchemy is different in Xing. Al's really into it.”

“And you?” Roy asks, “Any specific plans for the future?”

“Dunno,” Ed shrugs, “Right now, I'm just taking things as they come.”

“Hm. I would always welcome you in my team,” Roy points out and Edward snorts.

“Me in the military?” he shakes his head, “Not a chance in hell.”

“I hadn't thought so,” Roy chuckles before fully turning toward him. Ed is standing two steps above him and like this they are on eye-level.

“Why did you keep sending me postcards?” he wants to know.

Ed frowns, “You demanded it, didn't you?”

“You don't strike me as the kind of person who gives in to others' demands.”

“Tch,” Ed turns his nose up, rubs the back of his neck.

“I guess it was supposed to be a kind of thank you,” he mutters, “And then I was curious to see whether you would show up here.”

“I'm here,” Roy says, “What now?”

For a long moment, Ed just looks at him, contemplative. Then he grins.

 

They leave the campus together, just wandering the streets. The night is so clear it seems like they could just reach up and pluck

_the stars out of the sky._

“Al and me are staying at a hotel,” Ed points out, face towards the horizon, “He's got the keys, though. I always lose them.”

“We can just take a night walk,” Roy proposes, hands in his pockets, “Tell me about your travels.”

So they walk and talk and buy greasy hot dogs from a corner joint and then walk some more.

“Won't your brother worry,” Roy wonders as they idly stop at the bridge, overseeing the black velvet of the river below.

“Nah,” Ed waves him off, “He'll know where I am.”

He saw me following you, Roy thinks, And he didn't seem surprised.

Eight years worth of postcards. Maybe Roy isn't surprised either. Is Edward in love with an idea once more?

“Look at me, Edward,” he says on impulse and waits till Edward does.

The cold light of the street lamps does little to diminish the gold in him, and alchemists have always been drawn towards precious metals.

_No easy thing to pick apart._

Roy leans in and kisses him.

At first his lips are unyielding, but then Roy angles his head and nudges forward, a silent request. A quiet gasp and their tongues meet. In the night they stand and kiss.

Then Roy pulls back and looks at him for a long moment

“Am I wrong?” he asks calmly.

“Presumptuous is what you are,” Ed wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, “You think I came all the way here just because of you?”

“No,” Roy shakes his head, “But maybe I can be the reason you decide to stay.”

_Edward stills, his breath low and quick. He stares up at Roy from between the messy strands of hair that have fallen into his face._

“ _What?” he rasps, and there is something akin to hope in his voice._

Tentatively, Roy reaches out to touch his cheek, his skin.

“I would be,” he begins, the words feeling profound on his tongue, “Very curious to see what... we could be for each other.”

Ed's eyes widen.

“The audacity!” he huffs, crossing and uncrossing his arms, “Expecting me to, what? Abandon my studies and move here? For one meager little kiss? Yeah, right.”

“There's more where that came from,” Roy promises, “And I can always ask to be transferred to South City.”

This time, it's Ed who kisses him.

“ _You're in luck, Mister Soldier.”_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> And they overthrow the government/save the world some other time. The End.
> 
> (PS.: I've gotten so used to writing RoyEd as slowburn that this feels like a total whiplash, event hough it was still technically slowburn.)


End file.
